


it doesn't have a name (not that i've ever found)

by Elendraug



Category: Lo (2009)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 08:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22713106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: "What you're asking is impossible!""But I'm still asking it."
Relationships: Justin/Lo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	it doesn't have a name (not that i've ever found)

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's day
> 
> I wrote this in like 2013 and never posted it, whoops
> 
> I think I had probably intended to add more but if I don't post it now I can't say that I ever will, and at least it can finally go up on 2/14. maybe I'll revise it someday
> 
> if you have no idea what this movie is, stop reading this fic and please go watch it. it's well worth your time.
> 
> ♫ rondo brothers - [computers on ice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=odPeW4Mob6U)

> _But, O sad Virgin, that thy power  
>  Might raise Musæus from his bower,  
> Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing  
> Such notes as warbled to the string,  
> Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek,  
> And made Hell grant what Love did seek._
> 
> John Milton, _Il Penseroso_  
> 

* * *

When she turns to leave, it’s too much.

“April,” he chokes, broken and desperate. She’s already dispelled the circle; his protection is gone. She meets his gaze over her shoulder, and her eyes are red with what she is, with what she has always been. He can’t rightly call her _she_.

He’s been tasked with destroying the book. It’s only fitting as the end to this gift exchange: _Faustus_ has long since been incinerated by Jeez or others of the legion. Human hands can unmake what Lo’s cannot.

He can’t do it.

Justin crawls after Lo into the darkness, his knees knocking into the book in his rush to keep up. “Please,” he begs. “I love you.”

Lo repeats its words from before, when Justin believed they’d just met. “You have to let go of the past.”

“No!” Justin rests his scabbed-over palm on Lo’s three fingers. “I’m _not_ leaving without you.”

Lo closes its eyes. “They’ll kill you.”

“We’ll protect each other.” Naïve, and he knows it, but denial spurs him into believing it true.

This is what Lo wants, needs, but can’t permit. Who in their right mind would risk eternal torment for love of a demon? But Justin’s not in his right mind, and Lo’s not like the rest.

“Shit, you’re persistent.”

“Damn right I am.”

Lo sighs, and with a quick gesture, they’re returned to the dimness of shuttered daylight. The apartment has never been impressive, even with temporary demonic remodeling.

“Am I _too ugly to attend on thee_?” Lo mocks. “Should I return as a friar? Or Maria von Trapp?”

Justin ignores this and slides an arm around Lo’s shoulders. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

“My legs are shattered, Justin.” Lo remains on the bare wood floor, deliberately dead weight. “I can’t help you there.”

“The couch, then.” He kisses the clammy skin of Lo’s cheek and hefts the demon upward, his other arm under its knees. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Lo snorts. “Fat chance.”

“Stop being so stubborn,” he chides. “Let me take care of you.”

There’s a long silence. Lo turns onto its side to face the back of the couch and says nothing until Justin returns a moment later to cover it with a microfiber blanket that’s seen better days. “I didn’t think you’d still care,” Lo grumbles.

“Then you underestimated me.” Justin shifts the throw pillows to better support Lo’s neck, and tucks the blanket in around its shoulders.

“I guess I did.”

Justin fondly traces his fingertips across Lo’s temple and leaves to let it rest.

* * *

“You need to scratch out the circle.”

Justin looks up from the stove, where a grilled cheese sandwich sizzles in a frying pan. “Hm?”

“It’s potent magic,” Lo explains. “You can’t just leave it for the next unlucky fucks to find when they move in. Get a Brillo pad. Some turpentine.”

He turns the dial from MED to LO. Spatula. Plate. LO to OFF. Lunch is served.

Justin sets down Lo’s plate on the coffee table and sits down on the couch, balancing his own plate on his lap. Lo moves its legs to accommodate him and wordlessly bites into the sandwich. 

“It’s Gruyère. Like it?”

Sarcasm is tempting, but the cheese is legitimately good. Lo nods. “You cook more than the other humans around here.”

“I have to,” Justin replies, chewing. “Sulfite allergy. If I didn’t make it, it’s got to be plain.”

“Explains the salad.”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Did you really think it was good? When we met, I mean.”

Lo shrugs. “Ain’t a lot of vegetation in the pit. Definitely not kale.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“I’d never tasted anything like it before.” Lo takes another bite of the sandwich, and savors each mouthful as if it’s a last meal. “I can’t say it beats human.”

Justin shifts, uncomfortable. “The Lyre’s house dressing sets me off. The first time I explained to them why I needed _nothing_ on the salad, they suggested I try ‘just’ the red wine vinaigrette as a low calorie option.” He rolls his eyes. “The waiter finally got it, but it took, like, another ten minutes of excruciating detail.”

“That waiter’s an asshole.” Lo brushes crumbs off the couch cushion and onto the floor. “I’m not kidding about the circle, though. You’re done casting magic.”

Justin huffs. “I’ll do it later.”

There’s a moment of companionable silence. Lo rests its cheek on the throw pillow and curls up, its knees digging into Justin’s thigh.

Justin wipes his hands on his jeans, smiles, and reaches for the remote.

* * *

“How do you feel about dead animals?”

Justin dumps a pile of warm laundry onto the bed. “That’s a weird question to ask.”

“You didn’t answer it.”

He’s always been the type of person to meticulously fold his socks, his underwear, and in another life with a human April it may have driven her crazy. But Lo doesn’t care, or even notice. “Like what, roadkill?”

“Sure. Whatever. Animal corpses, yay or nay?”

“They freak me out a little. Unless it’s a roast chicken or something.”

Lo rests its chin on its palm and watches Justin sort his socks. “Page ninety-seven. To protect a demon from others of its kind.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing.”

Lo picks up a pair of old, threadbare boxers, frowns at them, and puts them back with the rest of the clothing. “Yeah, it’s a thing. A really important thing, if you want to help me out.”

Justin stashes a stack of undershirts in his dresser drawer. “What do I need to do?”

“I need a silvered crow’s foot, set with a dark opal.”

“Where am I gonna find that, eBay?”

“You’d be surprised. People sell all kinds of shit.”

“All right, I’ll track one down.” Justin busies himself with his clothes. Lo stares at him as he pads around the room. "So we confuse and/or scare the post office. Then what?"

"Then I wear it," Lo explains, as if this should be obvious. "And you hope it's enough to keep them off our trail for a few weeks."

Justin frowns. "Only weeks?"

Lo shrugs. "Nothing's forever. Death and taxes, maybe."

There's a wry smile at the corner of Justin's mouth. "You know, when you were April, you never understood pop culture references, or... Or anything human, really."

"You seemed like the type who'd go for a manic pixie dream girl." 

"A what?"

Lo throws a sock at him. "Jesus, don't you read TV Tropes?"

* * *

The nightmares are worse than ever.

Lo was April when they went to sleep, with Justin’s arm curled around the human form he’s used to. He pointedly avoids sleeping over the faded bloodstain he couldn’t quite get out of the sheets after Jeez ripped his chest open.

Justin flexes his fingertips over April’s hip and wonders, half-conscious, whether the nerve tissue is still functional. With her—its—human body kept close, his bed feels like home again, instead of a constant reminder of separation and trauma. He tries not to dwell on it; he knows he shouldn’t, not with her safely in his arms again.

He’s drifting on the cusp of sleep when there’s a waxy texture beneath his hand, seconds before he’s jolting awake with a violent, unearthly shriek that makes his heart stop. There’s matted hair and sickly skin pressing back against his chest, and Justin chokes on his own subconscious bolt of disgust.

Despite his own terror, he holds Lo and wills his pulse to settle. “It’s okay,” he says, an effort to reassure himself as well as the demon. “I’ve got you. Everything’s okay.”

“You know that’s a lie,” Lo snaps. 

Justin tightens the embrace, steadfast. “I wish it wasn’t.”

There’s tense quiet, save for the muted rush of Los Angeles traffic passing several stories below, unfettered by the late hour. Justin listens to his own breathing. Lo remains absolutely still, stiff and uncomfortable in this intimacy with its true form.

“Gonna smoke,” Lo announces, before groping on the nightstand for a half-finished pack of Camel Reds. 

Justin always encouraged April to quit. With what he knows now, he’s well aware there’s no point. He wipes rheum out of his eyes and sits up. “Need a light?”

“I got it.” The zippo flickers to life and Justin thinks about the candles he sat beside for hours, waiting for something, anything. Smoke hangs in the air when Lo exhales through its nose, if the knife-slit nostrils can even be considered such. The ambient city glow coming in through the windowpane catches the tendrils and illuminates them as Lo takes another drag.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Goddamn it, Justin!” Lo’s voice takes on a guttural rage Justin hasn’t heard since they escaped hell. “I’m not fucking five, and you’re not my therapist.”

Self-loathing twists in the pit of his stomach. Justin fidgets for a few minutes while Lo smokes. When at last the demon stubs it out and leaves the cigarette in a long-empty beer glass, Justin leans in to slide his arms around Lo’s waist again.

“I’m sorry.”

Lo lifts a hand to hold Justin’s wrist, and says nothing.

* * *

Admittedly, Justin expected to spend the majority of his call center savings on the required items for the ritual. All told, he forks over far more cash when his trawl through Craigslist lands him a secondhand wheelchair that isn’t filthy or scuffed. His real mistake is attempting to carry all of these things into the apartment in one trip.

“You’ve got blood in a take-out container, dumbass.” From the couch, Lo lifts a palm towards the ceiling and stabilizes the awkwardly balanced heap of junk in Justin’s arms. “Unless you _want_ to ruin the floor. Say the word and I won’t stop you, it’s your place.”

“I didn’t know you could just _buy_ blood,” Justin muses. “Who does that?”

“The English.”

“Really?”

“Black pudding. That’s a thing.”

Justin makes a face and deposits the three-dollar container of blood next to two Fed-Ex packages. Home Delivery will ship anything, apparently, and Justin’s sure they’ve seen far weirder than bird feet and uncommon gemstones. “That’s gross.”

Lo rolls its eyes. “Tell that to the fuckload of people who consume blood the world over.” It grins at him. “Including yours truly.”

“Yeah, and you can’t even cook for shit.” Now that his hands are free, he brings the wheelchair inside from the hall and expands it fully. It’s dusty, but in decent shape given the price. The seller was willing to meet right away, too, and that had sealed the deal.

Justin fiddles with various components for a minute to get a feel for it, then brings it alongside the sofa. “Do you need help?”

“I got it.” 

Lo lifts itself into the seat while Justin grips the handles to keep it steady. Even though he knows consciously the demon is strong enough to move, Justin can’t help worrying.

“Doesn’t smell completely offensive,” Lo comments. “Somebody took the time to Febreeze it first.”

Justin doesn’t have a clever response, and opts to drape his arms over Lo’s shoulders instead.

“I don’t need your sympathy.” Lo tries to shoot him a frustrated, sidelong look, but the angle’s all wrong and it can’t see Justin’s face. “Don’t quote the Stones.”

“Shut up and let me hug you.”

* * *

“Okay, that store off Santa Monica had the brick dust.” Justin scribbles on a post-it and laughs. “Although I could’ve gotten _that_ on eBay, too. You can get fucking anything on eBay.”

“We still need the tears,” Lo notes, looking upside-down at him from the bed. “We could watch _The Fountain_. That one’s even named for its waterworks.”

Justin faux-pouts. “I thought we were gonna watch _Titanic_.”

“ _A Walk to Remember_?”

“Stop it or I’ll start bawling right now.”

“Out of dread, right?” Lo rolls onto its stomach and pillows its head on its arms. “The thought of sitting through those has me shaking in my boots.”

“Terrifying.” Justin purses his lips. “I think it was supposed to be children’s tears, specifically, but I’d rather not get arrested if I can avoid it. It’ll make it tough to finish the spellwork.”

“Magic doesn’t give a shit about whose tears they are, just that you got enough of them.”

“Right. Like, what, a tablespoon?”

“Dunno. Probably. What makes you cry?”

Justin looks at Lo on his bed, comfortable despite crushed limbs, toying idly with the loose stitching on the duvet that won’t quite come undone. Safe, for now.

“I can think of a few things.”

* * *

> _And that must end us, that must be our cure:  
>  To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose,  
> Though full of pain, this intellectual being,  
> Those thoughts that wander through eternity,  
> To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost  
> In the wide womb of uncreated night  
> Devoid of sense and motion?_
> 
> John Milton, _Paradise Lost_


End file.
